Evolution - The Devil Is in the Details (Part Five of Six)
Did mankind evolve from bacteria? Did the Encyclopedia Britannica evolve from Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace? Let's check out this analogy!
The Language of Life
Deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA for short, has been called the language of life. The description is an apt one. DNA's language is composed of basic elements called nucleotides. These nucleotide bases combine into specific codons much the same as letters of the alphabet combine into specific words.
Codons in given sequences join together to form specific amino acids just as words in given sequences join together to form meaningful sentences.
Taking it a step further, the correct type, order, and number of amino acids result in the appropriate protein or gene, much as the correct order of sentences results in an appropriate paragraph. And proteins produce different types of cells which develop into various organs of the body. That is comparable to the correct sequence of paragraphs combining to form a meaningful chapter.
See the parallel? The last step is the right number and types of organs form a living and fully functional life form. In much the same way, the right number and order of chapters form a meaningful book.
Evolutionists believe that over time one life form merges into a completely different type by a series of DNA nucleotide mutations. Mistake after mistake after mistake transformed single-celled organisms into people like you and me. That is the heart and soul of the evolution theory.
Nucleotide bases are the equivalent to letters of the alphabet. Suppose, just suppose, we were to take a literary masterpiece and "mutate" every 500,000th copy or so by changing one letter, or perhaps one punctuation mark somewhere in the book. Would a series of such random errors over time change one comprehensive meaningful piece of literature into another? Let's exam that possibility.
Analogy of Evolution: The Evolution of the Encyclopedia Britannica
The visitor looked around the huge room. As far as the eye could see, he found row after row of scribes busily engaged in copying thick layers of manuscripts. "What are they copying?" he inquired directing the question to the guide.
"Scribes in this room are copying the English version of Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace."
"Boy, that sounds like a lot of copying."
"We estimate it around 2.8 million characters including both letters of the alphabet and punctuation marks," replied the guide.
"Wow! Who translated the book?"
"Translated? What do you mean?"
"Raising his eyebrows a bit, the visitor explained, "I mean who translated War and Peace into English?"
"As far as we know, the first edition was just an accident. Some alphabet letters were floating about in a primordial soup with a bunch of punctuation marks. Then Wham-O. Something zapped it - maybe lightning or radiation or something like that. Whatever-it-was knocked all the letters and punctuation marks into the right order and conveniently packaged the whole work into an appropriate book binder. That's just a theory mind you. But it is the best explanation we can come up with."
Flabbergasted, the visitor responded, "Do you mean to tell me that 2.8 million letters and punctuation marks got together on their own and just accidentally formed an English translation of Tolstoy's War and Peace?"
"Yes, that's our theory," stated the guide nonchalantly. "But don't forget, an electric bolt or radiation probably nailed the letters in place and wrapped a book cover around the whole thing."
After staring at the guide for a few moments, the visitor decided to change the subject. "Where do the books go from here?"
"Ah, glad you asked," exclaimed the guide, leading the visitor into a second somewhat smaller room. Motioning to the men reading books on long rows of tables, the guide said, "These gentlemen are our editors. They read all copies produced by the scribes in the first room. If a mistake is found, the book is pulled and sent on to the next room."
"Considering each copy is composed of 2.8 million characters, they must find a lot of errors."
"No. The scribes are a dedicated bunch of workers. They average only one error in five hundred thousand complete books. Now if you will just follow me, I'll show you what happens next."
The next room was smaller than either of the first two, however, the visitor could still see plenty of people examining numerous copies of War and Peace. "What goes on here?" asked the visitor, watching one of the workers snapping his book shut and casually tossing it into a large garbage can.
"We call this our Natural Selection room. And these folks are our second editors. They read all the copies with misprints. If they decide the copy no longer makes sense, they discard it. Only about one in a thousand mistakes are acceptable and gets by this room."
"Then they forward those copies that are still meaningful to another room."
"That's right," responded the guide, walking the visitor to the fourth room.
"This is our third editor," explained the guide. In this room sat one huge, mean looking scribe. He growled and snarled, hissed and spat, then he devoured most of the books on top of his table. Of those that were left, he tore up a few, set fire to others, threw a couple out the window, and dumped a number into a vat of water.
Inexplicably, he brushed a few of the remaining copies of what we may now call the "acceptable-error-version" of War and Peace off his table, and sat serenely on the table top. A frighten little scribe quickly gathered those copies off the floor and scampered out of the room.
"What kind of editor is that?" asked the visitor, pointing to the now howling creature on the table.
"We call him Random Chance."
"He doesn't review the books. He just eats them, or tears them apart, or burns them, or tosses them out the window, or dumps them in water!" exclaimed the visitor.